The Old Web: A Story of The Visage
by deusdragon1
Summary: An original work taking place in the Firefly/Serenity 'verse, post-BDM. Captain Veron Daniels, of the ship The Visage, makes the impossible choice to venture back to Earth-That-Was in search of an ancient artifact. But at what cost? Comments and reviews welcome!
1. Chapter 1

Prologue:

It is the year 2519. Humanity used up most of our home planet and decided to move out to a new solar system. We terraformed dozens of planets and moons, making them habitable for humans. Then we colonized them.

The central planets became the Alliance. They are an interplanetary parliament bent on bringing all of the planets under their rule. The people on the outer planets didn't like that idea.

There was a war. The Alliance won.

For years, anyone who didn't want to be under Alliance control had to find a ship and keep flying. That's what I did. I found a ship capable of interplanetary travel, a crew able and willing to fly under my command, and found jobs to keep the ship in the air and food in our mouths. Sometimes that means taking less than legal jobs and staying out of eyeshot of the Alliance.

Before the Alliance could get the planets on the rim fully under their control, they lost some ground. The legendary Captain Malcolm Reynolds, and the crew of his ship, Serenity, uncovered an Alliance mistake, now called the Miranda Incident, that turned millions of innocent people into the scourge of the untamed wild: Reavers. Reavers are wild people with no known conscience. If they can catch you, they will kill you. But they'll 'do things' to you first.

Getting captured by Reavers is the second worst thing that could happen to you out here. The first is letting the Alliance get you under their thumb.

Chapter One:

It took about two months running at full burn for my ship, The Visage, to get from Earth-That-Was back to the colonies. Nearing the end of that journey, the crew was more than a mite irritated. I understand why. We'd been sent on a fool's errand, running to a dead planet that used to be home for something that doesn't exist.

It was my first officer, Randy McMillan, my pilot, Jen-All, and me, Captain Veron Daniels, all taking our ease at a tavern on the dark side of a desolate piece of moon with no name when we got the job. Randy is bright as fusion reactor and our resident jack-of-all-trades. He stands about 5 feet, 6 inches with hair the color of desert sand. He saw our client coming first.

"I bet this is for us," he said, nudging my arm and glancing in the direction of the door. A thin, short woman with hair down to here and thin-rimmed specs came into the tavern. Even in the dim candle light, I could see she was wearing a suit that was made for a man, but far too clean.

"Yeah, Randy, I think you're right," I commented as she glanced around the room and finally saw us. She came to the table.

"Captain Daniels?" She inquired, looking dead at me.

"You are?"

"Rannity Colmes. I have a proposition for you." She pulled a chair from an adjacent table and sat next to me.

"What kinda proposition?"

"One that requires your particular set of talents. I've heard a lot about you, Captain Daniels." She was a fast talker and she seemed to be sizing us up now. I straightened my brown duster and ran my fingers through my coal colored hair. I am tall enough to be intimidating when I want to be and more than slightly muscular. Aside from the scar on my cheek from a laser burn, I consider myself a relatively good looking man. Hell, even the scar adds character. But the way Rannity was looking at me made me self-conscious as all get out.

"Please, call me V."

"Okay. I've heard you're a tough man to cross, V. You don't back down, no matter what. But two things were more important than that. I've heard about how you handled the Osman Hunt a few months ago. The Alliance was hunting this fugitive for months. Apparently, you were able to track him for the Alliance, across several moons and planets, within a week's time."

"The Alliance wasn't lookin' in the right spots." She chuckled, her glasses sliding down her nose slightly. She pushed them back into place.

"Indeed. Also, I noticed how you weaseled a confession out of that Alliance grifter a while ago. Excuse me for saying, but you have the most finely-tuned bullshit detector I've ever seen." Jen-All snorted into her cup of mead. Rannity scowled at Jen-All.

"I'm sorry. That just sounded so cute coming from you," Jen-All said.

"Do not patronize me."

"I apologize, Rannity," I said. "My pilot is a mite spaced sometimes. Probably on account of her bein' born in space and hasn't been on land long enough for anything else but space to fill her head." I shot Jen-All a look that I hoped meant 'Shut your gorram mouth from now on.' She lowered her head and took a sip from her cup. She got the message. "Please, Rannity, let's get to the meat of this job."

"Sure, V. I work for a high profile arts and antiques dealer. He has a contact on Earth-That-Was. A man by the name of Lester. Lester has something very valuable for my employer. I simply need you to go and retrieve it."

I thought for a moment and instantly had questions. "That sounds too easy. What's the catch?"

"There is no real catch. As expected, since the Miranda Incident, tensions are high. So my employer's contact may try to give you some flack. But I'm sure you can handle that. Also, this is a very sought-after item. Keep it low profile, and you should have no other trouble."

"Why can't your man's contact just bring it?"

"There are several reasons, none of which I care to go over with you at this moment."

"Fair enough," I said. Randy shifted in his seat. "What's the pay?"

"Seven thousand now. Upon completion of the job, an additional twenty-three thousand. Thirty thousand total."

It took everything I had not to show how impressed I really was.

"As you can tell, Captain, this item is of dire import to my employer."  
I nodded. "Certainly. Well, Rannity, I appreciate you coming out here. I need to have a sit-down with the crew to give you an answer, though. I'll send you a wave in an hour to let you know."

"Absolutely," she said, pushing the rotting wooden chair away from the table and standing. "I look to hear from you soon." Then she trotted away. Randy broke his unfazed facade.

"Cap't, are you kidding me? Thirty thousand? That would keep The Visage in the air for nigh two years."

"I know that. I'm twitchin' a bit with this one, though. The money is too good for too simple a job." I cast a glance back toward the door. "There's somethin' she ain't tellin' us."

"I've never been to Earth-That-Was," Jen-All chimed in.

Jennifer Alltirs, or Jen-All as she liked to be called, was a wiry spit of a girl, barely eighteen. But, like I'd quipped earlier, she has spent her whole life in the air. She's the best pilot I've ever seen. I watched her once pull off a Gritty Nelson in a first generation Firefly ship. That ain't no simple maneuver. She was being chased by a man who claimed she stole something from him. I reckon the only thing she stole was his affections.

Without warning, she spun the ship belly up (shaking up everything and everyone inside) and skimmed the back of the ship on the ground. Then she enabled the grav dampeners to give the ship enough momentum to push off of the ground, fly in a tight arc, and shoot past her follower. It didn't do much good, as his ship was small enough to turn tail and keep up the chase, but it was an impressive move. I figured Jen-All could do anything. So to hear that she'd never once flown to Earth-That-Was took the wind out of my sails some.

"Really?" That was all I could say. She nodded, staring into her drink.

"I've heard about it. But what I've heard isn't too great. On the Cicero, the ship my daddy flew, there was an old man. He would spin tales about the time before everybody left Earth-That-Was. He told us of poisonous air and ground so hot and dirty that you sink in it when you walk. And creatures. Vicious, biting animals as crazy as Reavers and even more dangerous." She shuddered. "I dunno if that old man was crazy or not, but I had nightmares about Earth-That-Was for weeks after that."

Randy spoke up next. "I've been there, xiao yi," he said. "Its not as bad as all that. In some places, its like livin' on the rim. Every man for himself and God for us all, you know? But there are some places that's almost as civilized as Osiris. But the air is kind of toxic. Most people there wear masks. The others, well they don't live too long."

"What do you think, V?"

I sighed. It was a difficult question. The money was good. But the risks were enormous. The trip was long. Earth-That-Was was volatile and its inhabitants are crazy or strung out. And if this object we're supposed to fetch is as high profile as Rannity led me to believe, then we have to be on our toes. As captain, however, I can't afford to mince words, especially with my crew. I made up my mind.

"We'll take the job." Jen-All's face fell. Even with Randy's encouraging words, she was none too pleased about going. "The coin will be appreciated and we need the work. The Alliance is crippled, but they ain't gone. And they're pushing those such as us harder and harder now. So we'll take the work."

"Good choice, Cap't." Randy stood up.

"Looks like I'll find out if that old man really was crazy."

I chuckled. "Shiny. Now let's get back to the ship."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two:

The Visage is a midbulk transport ship. Big enough for crew and passengers up to twenty people. The cargo hold is big enough to drive a four-wheel mule into and still have space left. Full sized kitchen and each bunk has its own toiletries and such. Not a bad place to live. Its technical class code and name is 005-J16, known as The Spider. If you saw it land, you'd understand why it is called that. The landing stabilizers look like long, thin legs.

In spite of the creepy connotations of its name, this ship has always been good to me and the crew. I thought about the different scrapes she had gotten us out of as I drove the mule into the cargo hold. Jen-All was the first to hop off of the all-terrain vehicle. She took the stairs up to the cockpit two at a time.

"Randy, get on the comm and get everyone to the kitchen. I'll let them know what our next move is from there."

"Aye, cap't," he said and activated a ship-wide audio wave system on the cargo hold wall. "This is Randy. All personnel report to the kitchen immediately."  
Randy and I started walking up the steel steps to the kitchen. We got to the landing above the hold when Randy turned.

"Captain, I've been meanin' to ask." His face was that of a child about to be smacked. "Why didn't you speak up about her not tellin' us why the contact can't bring the thing?"

I sighed. I had a feeling this was coming. "It doesn't concern us."

"Yeah, cap't, it does. Some lǎn lǎoshǔ fènbiàn won't do the job himself and now we have to. Somethin' don't feel right."

"That was my first thought, too." I leaned against the rail of the landing. "But fact is, we really do need this job. Risks aside, we're runnin' low on just about everything. That seven thousand up front ain't no sad seven. So let's just assume that all parties involved are legless cripples and do the job."

"Sure, V." I started to walk past him. He called after me as I passed. "For the record, though, I still don't like it."

"Noted," I said as I passed through the door that led to another set of steps up to the kitchen.

The crew of the Visage, my crew, stood around the dining table when I stepped into the kitchen area. They were an assorted lot I'd cobbled together. But they were my assorted lot. Jen-All was pulling up a seat at the table. She straddled the chair backward, leaning her petite chin on the headrest.

To her left was Ephialtes Laurie, but we just called him the Old Man. His thin hair, portly middle, and overly jolly demeanor gave folks the notion he was a monk of some kind. But years in Alliance hospitals coupled with twice as many years on the fringe made him the best damn medic this side of Persephone. We were lucky to have him. He smoothed the royal blue robe he was wearing and sat at the table.

Across from the Old Man stood the ships mechanic, Deacon Jones-Ray. Deacon was a black cloud. He had dark skin and dark eyes and hair the color of pitch. He was thin as a vine. Normally he sulked about the ship in black pants, boots, and an open neck gray shirt, dirt and grit covering the skin that his clothes did not. Today, he added a dark bottle filled with a beverage what would surely blind if not careful.

Randy filed in behind me, thumbs hooked behind his black suspenders.

"We're missing someone," he said from over my shoulder. I nodded. In a moment of weakness, I hired a mercenary. Someone with more than a few years of heavy arms and combat training. The problem with having someone like that on your ship is you never know when they might be thinking about putting a blade betwixt your shoulders. I shuddered at the thought.

"Where's Fix?" I asked the crew. Jen-All spoke up.

"He was on the bridge when I popped up for a look. Shoulda been right behind me." The bridge. I do not like him there. I looked over my shoulder.

"Randy-"

"I'm on it," Randy said, taking several long strides toward the door out of the kitchen. As he reached the door, it opened. Standing in front of Randy was a man whose height overshot even Randy's. Well-used aviator goggles sat atop his bald head. A short-sleeved shirt stretched across his broad frame and his loose cargo pants were tucked into combat boots that had seen better years. A hip-holster sat empty around his waist. The pistol was nowhere to be seen. Something I gave silent thanks for.

"I miss anything?" he asked, biting into a smelly bit of cheese. Randy backed away, from the cheese I suspected.

"No, right on time."

"We got us a job?" Fix asked.

"Ramblers, we got us a job." Spirits instantly lifted, like a cool breeze had blown through a hot engine room. I told them the good news first. Smiles all around. Thirty-thousand cold hard cash. Then I told them the bad news. Deacon finished off the bottle.

"Earth-That-Was?" he slurred.

"I know," I started. "I don't like it anymore than you do. But it's a job, and it pays."

"It's _z__ìshā_, V. You're gonna get us killed, or worse."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Stow it, Deac," I spat. I turned and faced the rest of the crew. "Normally, I keep you all on a short lease with regards to coin, paying you what I can spare to keep this boat flyin'. Sometimes, that ain't much. Two, three hundred. This job makes things different. We get paid, each of you gets three thousand. The rest goes into the ship. Keep us flyin' and eatin.' Keep us off the radar." I paused, looking from face to face. "Sound good?"

A chorus of "Aye, cap'ts" and "Yes, sirs" answered me.

"Good. Randy, get Ms. Colmes on the cortex. Tell her we accept and set up a meeting place for the advance. Get the shuttle warmed up. You'll be meeting her topside." Randy nodded and walked out of the kitchen.

"Fix, I need you to make sure the armory is ready for action."

"You think we're gonna run inta trouble?"

I frowned. "Hope not. But if we ain't ready, we're humped. Can you make it happen?"

"Gotcha, boss."

"Jen-All?"

At her name, the pilot stood up, smiling broadly. "Yeah, cap't?"

"Get us in the air."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three:

The Visage settled into orbit above the moon. Randy climbed into one of two shuttles that flanked the lithe ship. He strapped himself in and flipped a switch or two. Little dots of yellow and red dotted the console in front of him. A soft rumbling confirmed that the shuttle's engine was running. Through the bay window ahead, he could see the starboard side of The Visage, the moon dark against the sky. He pushed in a button next to the throttle control stick.

"Visage, this is shuttle Shade. Disengaging couplings in three...two...one." Randy pushed the mic button again, shutting it off, and flicked a switch above his head. A mechanical whirring noise filled the cabin. Randy pulled on the control stick gently. The Visage fell away from the window. V's voice, tinny and small, filled the cabin.

"Acknowledged, Shade," V said. "See you shipside."

"Half an hour, at the outside. Shade out."

Randy deflated into the seat, his head leaned against the headrest. He yanked at the underside of the console to his right. A sliding platform the size of a dinner plate floated out. The word "Auto" labeled the panel in faded yellow letters. Randy struck a few of the keys, inputting coordinates into the autopilot system. The job done, he pushed the panel back into place and let go of the throttle stick. The moon got slowly got closer.

Randy watched the careful descent to the surface as he went over the next leg of the plan in his head. He was to land the shuttle in the hills outside of the settlement. A nice, quiet spot that Randy chose. Then he would wave the coordinates to Rannity and wait. When she arrived, she would give him the particulars of the job. And payment. After she left, Randy would hop in the shuttle, sail back to The Visage, and start the job. Easy as lyin'.

Satisfied with his overview of the next twenty minutes, Randy reached into a pocket on his long-sleeved, beige shirt and pulled out a thin, steel case. He popped the latch and it opened. Randy pulled a skinny, black cigar and a match from the case, snapped the case shut, and shoved the case back into the pocket. With a sharp snap of his wrist, Randy scraped the match against the heel of his boot. Flame greeted him, illuminating the small cabin. Randy lit the cigar and took a long drag from it while grinding the match into a smoldering pile of carbon on the console. The life support system, designed to filter the smoke, simply sucked the smoke away and replaced it with clean air.

A light on the console blinked at Randy. He was approaching the meeting place. Randy sat up, turned off the autopilot and brought the shuttle to a stop on a piece of flat in a valley. Most shuttles wouldn't be able to land without a decent dock. But Deacon retro-fitted the Shade and the Shadow with landing gear for just such an occasion. Randy turned in his seat and cued up the cortex. A burst of static cut through the droning of the shuttle's engine. Rannity's face appeared on the small screen. She didn't have her glasses on. Without them, Randy thought, she looked like someone he wouldn't mind getting to know personally.

"Ms. Colmes. Good to see you," Randy said, flashing a lopsided grin. "I've got the coordinates for you. I'm sending them now." Randy hit a few keys. A soft pinging noise verified that the coordinates were sent. A few seconds later, a corresponding ping came through the cortex.

"Thank you, Mr. McMillan. I'll see you shortly." Her face disappeared. Randy shut the cortex off. While waiting, Randy checked his gun. It was a semi-automatic pistol, magazine fed, and heavy. Nearly every piece was steel, and the exterior was black and silver. Each mag held fifteen rounds. The W&H Diamond 12. It was a solid piece of weaponry. Randy kept it immaculately clean. In his hands, it had never misfired. Randy looked it over, taking the magazine out, checking that it was loaded. With the safety on, he holstered it and strapped the chest holster to his abdomen.

Rannity's mule rumbled up as Randy stepped off of the shuttle's boarding platform. She rolled the vehicle to a stop, shutting off the engine as she did.

"Salutations," Randy said, holding up an open hand in greeting. Rannity stepped off the mule. Randy examined her in the dim, dusk light. She'd changed her clothes and was now wearing close-fitting pants, a long shirt with straps dangling from the ends of the sleeves. Her hair was tied back. Randy made note of the curves that had been lost in the folds of her earlier garb.

"Mr. McMillan," she called as she walked up to him.

"Randy. Call me Randy."

"You boys love your first names, doncha?" she said, a grin playing on the corners of her mouth.

"Well, we're big on comfort, is all. That whole 'last name' thing is off-putting some."

"That so? I'll remember that, Randy." She pulled a worn paper envelope from a back pocket and held it out to Randy. "That's the job. Every detail. Coordinates, map, Lester's info. Everything." Randy took the envelope and slid it into a pocket of his.

"Shiny. So, about-"

His words were cut off by a gunshot nearby. A clear, deep voice rang out, like a chapel bell.

"Rannity Colmes. Do not move. You are hearby bound by law. Hands to the sky." The speaker, a man with broad shoulders, square jaw and hair that had been buzzed off, stepped from around a hill with the saunter of a man in control. The saunter of a Fed. His gun, a laser pistol, was pointed at Rannity. She was slowly putting her hands up. "You are under arrest for the murder of Agent Jesse Cook."

As he came closer, Rannity looked at Randy. A pleading look. For help. Randy winked and crossed his arms. His right hand rested on the holster. He slowly gripped his gun. As if he could read minds, the Fed yanked another pistol from a holster on his lower back, pointing it at Randy.

"You even think of helpin' your lady-friend here," he jerked his head at Rannity. "I'll shoot you where you stand."

"You shoot me in a dream," Randy said. "You better wake up and apol-"

Another gun fired. Randy looked down. No pain. No blood. He breathed a sigh of relief. Then where...

The Fed had the same thought. He shot a glance toward the direction of the shot. Rannity's mule. The Fed had taken his eyes off of Rannity for less than a second. In that time, she reached for, and pulled free her gun.

"Don't move." She was pointing the gun at him. He was pointing his gun at the mule. The Fed stood in between Randy and the mule, so Randy had to lean slightly to see around the Fed. There was someone in the mule.

"Who is that?" the Fed asked. "Who shot that?"

"Don't say anything," Rannity said.

"You tell me who you are, or I will fire."

"He won't do a thing. I got him dead-to-rights."

The Fed turned and stole a glance at Rannity. Then everything happened at once. Three shots rang out, echoing through the night air. The Fed dropped, grabbing his bloody left knee. Rannity ran to the mule. Randy would find out later that within the span of a moment or two, Rannity shot the Fed's gun as the Fed shot at the mule. Then she shot him in the knee. He wasn't dead, though.

"Alliance shuttle Province, come in Province." The transmitter the Fed spoke into barked back.

"This is Province, over."

"Rannity." Randy started running to the mule. "I need that payment and need to get out of here." He got the the mule. Rannity was bent over someone who'd taken a shot to the stomach.

"Help us," she said. Randy looked down at her. Her face was streaked with tears, her eyes red.

"What is this?" Randy asked her, looking at the person who was bleeding onto the floor of the mule.

"Please. You have to help my daughter."


End file.
